{"id":2356,"date":"2025-10-18T04:46:37","date_gmt":"2025-10-18T11:46:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/?page_id=2356"},"modified":"2026-08-31T22:41:19","modified_gmt":"2026-09-01T05:41:19","slug":"my-poetry","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/?page_id=2356","title":{"rendered":"My Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"

OREGON MISTS<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Days pass like Oregon mists;
\nspeaking in sotto voce
\nof the endless cycle
\nof being and ceasing to be
\nof cataclysm and aftermath
\nof awkward instants and
\nlong afternoons<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SNOWFALL<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I awoke to the silent deluge . . .
\nfalling
\nheadlong
\nthe bleached blood of martyr and rogue
\nspilled without regard
\n. . . by cruel Edict!
\nAnd as naturally torn from the maiden
\nwrapped in fear
\na sacrifice to newborn gods
\nwho wear it like rouge.
\nYea, it is the blood of all
\nthat falls
\nmilky white
\nupon our mother\u2019s breast
\nsup and sustenance
\nsap and soul
\nthe phantom of redemption
\nmade whole.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE FOUNDRY<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The massive hammer blows beat a steady rhythm, refining, transforming the white hot bloom . . . the devil\u2019s flesh . . . and devil\u2019s work it was. It took possession of the souls of men who worked there. Wages? Something for wives and children. No, it was the fires of hell, the searing heat of the river of iron pouring from the furnace, the cacophony of foundry noise, the knowledge that their lives depended on the uncertain sobriety of the furnace master. That\u2019s what held them.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

WHITE WARRIOR<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

White warrior
\nadrift in aquamarine
\nshoots soft arrows
\nin another time.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Tribesmen in dark robes
\nstand mute
\nawaiting
\na new council fire.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Mothers of the multitude
\nstand guard
\nover innocence
\nshedding bright colors.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

All
\nwrapped in echoes
\nAll
\nwrapped in stillness.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

IN MEMORIAM<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Instant bird sound!\u00a0 Half remembered
\nI hold my ears
\nBrief screech of violent death
\nPierces.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

NIGHT<\/p>\n

Darkness,
\nit is so relentless
\nits transparency belying its grip
\non my transcendent self.
\nI am drawn like the February lamb
\nuntainted
\nunsuspecting
\nto the mother\u2019s milk of night vapors.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

FIRST STONE<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This first stone
\nstone upon which
\nstone shall rest
\nuntil the wall
\nshall be a sight
\nfor all to behold
\nmust be set straight
\nwith loving hands
\nwhen it wants to fall back
\nint<\/span><\/span>o primeval slumber.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

AFTERNOON SHADOWS<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A day may come,
\nwhen long afternoon shadows
\nrun down the street
\nfaster than you can.
\nAnd,
\nif only for a moment,
\nyour courage will desert you.
\nI will be ready, then,
\nto hold you
\nlike the caress of nightfall
\nso that your fear can exhaust itself
\nin my arms.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

WINDOW PANE<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A pity
\nif you cannot see
\nthe beauty
\nthat is mirrored upon
\ngazes through
\nand transcends my dirty window pane.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE AWAKENING<\/p>\n

Cloaked in dreams, I lay still
\non the dry ground
\nuntil you came.
\nYour breath, like a warm breeze
\nYour words, like raindrops
\nYour soft eyes, like the planters moon
\nconspired to lift my head
\nand set me free.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

UNTITLED<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

What is love without loss?
\nA pale shadow.
\nAnd what is joy without suffering?
\nAn impulse.
\nWhat is life without death?
\nAn impostor.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

OREGON MISTS Days pass like Oregon mists; speaking in sotto voce of the endless cycle of being and ceasing to be of cataclysm and aftermath of awkward instants and long afternoons   SNOWFALL I awoke to the silent deluge . . . falling headlong the bleached blood of martyr and rogue spilled without regard . … Continue reading My Poetry<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2356","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2356","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2356"}],"version-history":[{"count":31,"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2356\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3973,"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2356\/revisions\/3973"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/maxvollmer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2356"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}